


Of Fire Into Water

by Sartorelo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Children of the Forest, Dragons, Everyone Needs Hugs, Fuck S8, Greenseers, Jon Snow Needs a Hug, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post S8, TER is bad, White Walkers, dany isnt mad, freeform of magic and religious things, prophecies freeform, reencarnation, ressurection, slowburn, sorry for my bad grammar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-06 13:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sartorelo/pseuds/Sartorelo
Summary: The skies went dark for three days, and remained dark for precisely three months, as if a powerful spell had been cast.The gods mourned the three-headed dragon, but dragons cannot die.And so, they rise.[Currently on hiatus]





	1. Chapter 1

Three days, and darkness covered the skies.  
It started with a gray clearer than the anticipation of a storm, lighter as the smoke raised from a campfire somewhere in the woods. The kind of thing that seems to simply fade away, but that wasn’t what happened there.  
Instead, the shade got increasingly deeper. The ash turned into steel, and then, such a blackout came that no storm could set it free.  
In the dawn of the third day, the sun shone upon a coal surface. 

❃ 

It is said that dragons may never die. They’re fire made into flesh, and there is no blade that could crawl its way into the core of a hearth. When a dragon is born, the gods make a promise of life, in the essence of vitality and resilience.  
If the emergence of such beings had to be defined in one word only, one of the options could be strength, as their armored, frightening nature is far superior than anything that could be conceived by the best of blacksmiths. This is what its first shape can be known as, and the title of dragon was conceived for this appearance only by all races alike.  
However mighty they can be, and how hard it can be to strike a dragon, and how low are odds for such acts, those can, nonetheless, happen. And even if such a fate can be met for a dragon, that never meant the ending of a dragons life, for he will endure as many centuries as the gods made them to. A dragon is capable of waking from the darkness of death just as a serpent sheds its old skin, how many times it will be needed, however the circumstances, caring not for the time it may take or its surroundings. It may change it looks, as it may change its movements. This former name can even sound incompatible with its shape, although its nature is unchangeable. In its essence and fury, they will always be draconic.  
The skies went dark for three days, and remained dark for precisely three months, as if a powerful spell had been cast.  
The gods mourned the three-headed dragon, but dragons cannot die.  
And so, they rise.

❃ 

The end mirrored its beginnings, as the reflection of an inverted aurora, as the whispers of a fierce winter that flirted with mankind but never truly ascent. Men and women watched as the skies lightened beyond them, letting go of its coal cloak, drifting from mat gray as a mist that simply faded away. Gradually, the indigo returned, almost as a rumour that came true. Whatever had happened to darken the skies, it was over, or so they thought. Commonfolk and nobles cheered alike as they realised that the end of times wasn’t upon them.  
The cyan also returned to the waters, to the oceans. The sea was typically unsettling, wild, but now, it was more like what it was meant to be, rather than a infernal pitch of tar. The courage to go sailing returned to the people and so they went, even if, at that moment, there were no ships in the horizon.  
No, the ocean seemed almost empty, in that moment. Instead, it reached everywhere you could see, widening in any direction your eyes could meet, interrupted only by a beach white as pearl, warm to the touch as the sun was high up, shining in an almost orange shade, the intensity of its warmth undeniable. There, we had a weird harmony of elements, the kind of landscape that was just waiting to happen. That could have happened at any moment before, but it didn’t. Almost unbelievable to the eye, with every one if its elements just a little too striking, a little too beautiful to have been quite truth any day before that one.  
And its there, ignorant to the rarity of the scenery, that the child of purple eyes falls to her knees. At the exact line where the sand meets the sea, on the edge of the world. Behind her, the sand traces her barefoot steps, in a drawing that the wind soon drifts away.  
Selyrian takes in her surroundings as something both old and new. Just as herself. For she didn’t reminisced her birth, just as she didn’t reminisced the things she learned and where she came from, and yet, she had, and there she was. The child didn’t regarded a childhood, or a history. How she had arrived there, or how she got the clothes that fit her body.  
She didn’t remembered any stories, and yet, felt as if she knew them. She never had went to a beach before, but could recognize the breeze. She knew the names of the elements in her surroundings, just as she knew her own.  
She didn’t felt as a child, nor she felt ancient. She felt recent, if such emotion could make any kind of sense. Like if she had fell asleep beyond dark skies and woke at the dawn of a new era, her brain buzzing with the vague premonition of dreams and words in languages she did not spoke, and that, yet, had guiden her to that point.  
Her dreams molded her steps.They whispered about the gods that conceived her, broke into her with the landscape of beaches with water sheer as crystals, where the sun reflected upon the drops of the waves as particles that held a thousand prisms. They gave her the sight of her own, drowned body, sunk into the deep of the ocean, but alive still.  
Then, Selyrian woke up, in nowhere, and marched to this ocean. She couldn’t explain how she knew which constellations to follow, or which path to choose on a bifurcated trail, though she felt such decisions made by premonitions that lived deep into her heart.  
When she rose to life, already shaped as the six year old kid that she looked like, and yet with a gaze that held an wisdom that she had yet to reach, it happened with a deep ache into her chest. The waters had spit her out to the land beyond the river with the promise of life and mysterious warnings, information sprouting into her conscience in the exact moment they were needed. Undefined as she was, but all she had indeed. There was little she knew, but this knowledge seemed to be waiting for her: as if it had a lock between her mind and her purpose.  
And her heart told her that, in order to unlock it, she should arrive at the beach with pearl like sand and turquoise sea.  
As she fell to the ground, she felt wanted. The water that hit her knees were a tender touch, the reassurement that, whatever she was and whatever reasons triggered her existence, she was just a small girl that had done the right thing. And as such, she would be rewarded.  
Selyrian indulged in such a feeling. The lonely girl didn’t yet grasp as to why the gods had placed her into this world, so all she could do was to stare at it with her deep purple eyes, in awe, until such reasons came to her. However new things were, however naive her mind appeared, just like the child she was also meant to be, however cunning she was capable of being, just like a spy, despite her young age, on one thing she could agree, regardless of how confusing things ought to be, and that was that, as long as she followed her heart, she would be doing the right thing.  
Bubbles rising from the water brought her attention back to the present. She got up, walking a few steps in the direction of the sea, until her knees were underwater and her dress felt clutched against her calves.  
It was then that she heard the thunder that was born from the waters. The thunder that anticipated the lightning, the roar that anticipated the fire.  
And, from the sea, emerged a dragon of bones, bones and scales, a maritime beast bigger than any vessel, able to drown the biggest of ships.  
Selyrian did not fear the huge monstrosity, as frightening as it was, with teeth bigger than her arms, its head the size of a large carriage.  
And she didn’t shivered when the creature swam its way to her, staring deep into the little kid. The bond she felt with the waves at the moment that she fell in front of them, at the times where she didn’t know what to do and felt it guidance, was the most similar comparison she could make to the sensation of being approached by such a mystical being, unimaginable. In order to reach her, Rhaegal had left the profundities of the sea, exposing its massive body in the process. He was a combination of gold, jade and marble, with protruding bones that grew over him as a armour, in an elaborated creation of a rebirth.  
When he was close enough to the touch, she wasn’t high enough to reach his nostrils. It was said that dragons could never stop growing as long as they had the space to do so, and, for a dragon that had left the sky, it made only sense for him to become gigantic in the ocean, Selyrian realized.  
The same ocean that had conceived her, did so with Rhaegal. They adopted a child of fire into water and, as a result, intertwined their nature.  
She didn’t knew if such thought could also refer to herself as well.  
She didn’t knew and she also wasn’t too busy trying to. Her left hand rose to touch the dragons face, caressing the natural shield that death had gifted him, the one that was made to protect a flesh that was almost inscrutable as well. The beast didn’t reacted upon such a light touch, that happened just beyond its mouth, though he closed it ever so delicately. Rhaegal’s gaze was lowered to the child, holding as much meaning as a dragon could.  
The moment happen to be interrupted by new footsteps on the sand. Selyrian turned around, without taking her hand off the dragon in order to look at the stranger that was approaching as much as she could without letting the hem of her red clothing get wet. That created a distance of a few feet between them, not far enough to create any disturbance in the hearing of the phrase that came next:  
“Well, sister. I see you have also awoken a dragon.”

❃


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed the change in the additional tags and that is because I may have had some ideas for this fic. A few more ideas than I anticipated earlier. So I have no idea how long this is going to be, tbh. But I hope you enjoy it anyways! This chapter is shorter than what I'm trying to achieve this fic, but I just felt like I had to cut it there. Next chapter will be bigger, and may also bring a new perspective to this whole thing...  
> Enjoy your reading!  
> (and sorry for any grammar mistakes)

Selyrian stepped away from the maritime dragon. He watched her steps as she got out of the water, before drifting into the deepness of the ocean, letting only his head exposed, still able to watch them from afar.  
“I heard about you.” Acknowledge the unknown woman. Her blueish gray eyes at ease, and, even as the child preferred the ocean as the land, it wasn’t unpleasing getting closer to said woman.  
“And what did you hear?” The childs pitch was just as it should be, except for the rational calmness it was able to express.  
“Walk with me, and I shall be glad to tell you.”  
It was an invitation, not a trap. On her way to that beach, Selyrian had learned to identify the difference between both. Even so, she was clever enough to comprehend what was hiding beneath the curtains, and it was that, at that moment, such opportunity, given the magnitude of recent events, should not be wasted. Her huge, dark purple eyes returned to gaze at the ocean, focusing in the golden iris of Rhaegal. She didn’t wanted to let him there, not when she finally met him. Not when she had heard the songs of the ocean, and followed that melody from across the continent, letting a current of thought drive her to that precise location.  
And then, it hit her: that Rhaegal was a king between the waves, and he danced around them as he once did between the clouds. She imagined his speed, beyond any inventions of men and women alike, just as his brothers on the skies. She realized, just like that, that this wasn’t just about Rhaegal, as she could have met the magnificent dragon of bones on any shore.  
No. The ocean had sang to her and guided her through that journey, and yes, the dragon was part of it. But her purpose for being there, on that moment, was the woman that called her, and now she knew as such.  
“How did you knew about me? How…”  
Although her singularities, Selyrian had much of the traits of a child, and curiosity happen to be one of them.  
“Walk with me, and I shall reveal every truth.” The woman repeated her promises.  
And so, Selyrian listened to her, nodding her head in agreement before giving one last look at the ocean creature, just in time to see him lowering his head and going away.  
Somehow, that felt as a blessing.

The long path seemed purposedly crafted for revelations and tales, to the uncovering of a soliloquy, and Kinvara was making justice to that. The High Priestess words appeared to clear up some of what Selyrian already though she knew, as if she repeated fractions of her dreams and the whispers on her gut, though not all of it, and when the little girl tried to think about the left fragments, it left her too unsure to proclaim them out loud, as she didn’t think it should be appropriate to wonder about things her heart wasn’t fully set on.  
Also, amidst everything that was being unfolded, to very little she was capable to phrase an answer for. The oceans were fluid fire, a direct parallel to the blaze. R’hollor and the Drowned God were both opposite sides of the same coin, interacting with each other in Their own mysterious purposes, and, on special occasion, altering the fabric of reality.  
That was a secret revealed to few between followers of those gods and could sound absurd, but the child felt sincerity in her heart, agreeing with the tales that were being shared.  
She listened about unfinished business, of malicious crows, and about what is dead may never die. Dragons were too powerful to decay by the hands of others beyond the gods themselves, but that could never reach the ears of men, or, in their desperation, society would be lost.  
“But dragons have already died before.” Interrupted Selyrian.  
“And they reborn, with names that we have yet to craft. Their rebirth can be as familiar as what they once were, as did Rhaegal, or they can also resurrect as hurricanes and vulcanos and all other kinds of vessels, forevermore carrying the dragon of itself as a everlasting shadow. Every revival is different from another, and there is no exception for that. However, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done at all, not when the gods give us such capacity.”  
Once more, everything sound cohesive. How had Rhaegal woken up? The same way as her, of course. They were pawns to the gods, but that didn’t meant they didn’t enjoy the life it was given. A soldier doesn’t turn the drink away just because it has to fight, rather the opposite.  
How about her?  
When she expressed such question out loud, Kinvara’s answer was longer than she had antecipated.  
“My dreams shifted the moment that the skies went dark. The scarlet smoke that trailed my premonitions faded as haze on the horizon, and R’hollor found new languages for my interpretations. He introduced me to old secrets, as to how wake what has been long asleep without the absence of its essence. He showed me a hoard of dragons flying above, gigantic at the point that they created waves of shadows on the surface. And then the colors shifted, and I saw myself facing the element that never reached for me. I’m a woman of fire, but, in my sightings, I drowned and awakened to the vision of your purple eyes leaving the waters, recognizing you as a sister of my spirit, even if your family resides with someone else. What do I know? You are the earliest strike of light at dawn, the one capable to wake a dragon that died on Westeros at the further beach in Essos, and that your purpose of unleashing the truth in the heart of men and women across this land isn’t limited to flying serpents.”  
“I really did that? I really woke Rhaegal?”  
“Indeed. He grew in his absence, bigger than it has ever been, but he had been waiting for you. The Brothers united their strengths for we have purposes to fulfill.”  
“And what would that be?”  
“You will understand, once you see.”  
“Are you referring to the dragon you have woke as well?”  
The corners of Kinvara lips raised ever so slightly, discreetly, admiring the child beside her. The child that wasn’t quite a child, but at the same time, was.  
“You will see, little one. We still have a long way to go.”  
And they went. During their course, Kinvara changed her approach and asked the other one about the things she had saw and got to know on her arrival, and Selyrian gladly told her all she knew, of her aquatic dreams and her awakening on the other side of the continent. And the High Priestess filled with knowledge where the child lacked, explaining to her about the politics of Westeros and how the greed of men dared to try to bring dragons down, as so many other details.  
Until they stopped. Another thunder could be heard, the guttural sound that could only belong to the more magnificent between the beasts. Drogon, the dragon that had never died, welcoming the newcomers, flying in circles on the skies. He was too far away for Selyrian to be able to tell if he was bigger than Rhaegal, and her mind was more occupied in imaginating how he would have looked when the skies melted black against his scales.  
However, the sky would never again blackout as it recently did, that she knew with certain. So she returned her gaze to the house in front of her. It wasn’t a castle, as it also wasn’t a cabin. It was an hybrid between those two concepts, simultaneously humble and expansive, if such a thing was capable of being. As it was. At this point, it didn’t made any more sense anymore if something was possible or logical. If it was facing her, then it meant it should be real.  
And that was enough.  
Drogon’s roars brought disturbance into the home, once it was possible to hear noises coming from the insides of the construction from some minutes before the door swung open.  
And when she did, and Stormborn went to welcome Kinvara back, her gaze instantly fell upon the child besides her, her own violet eyes wide open in shock.  
Daenerys froze at her spot, for a few seconds, as if she had seen a ghost. And she had.  
That child had been in her mind, before. In a long forgotten dream, on the early days of her childhood, the childhood of her first life. Before she even knew her dreams were tales of truth, she had seen the hairs that were exactly like her, for the exception of one dark lock, and the dark purple eyes.  
She had seen that exact moment decades ago, but the memory had hitten her instantaneously.  
Mirri Maz Duur had emphasized how her womb would never carry children.  
But the gods had woken dragons to her, and her dreams told of a different tale.  
After the initial wave of surprise distanced itself, the former queen was able to pronounce a single word only:  
“Selyrian.”  
The reaction shouldn’t, but still, surprised Kinvara. She knew that prophetic dreams were a characteristic of the Targaryen woman, but that child represent something so rare and peculiar, that for some reason, it hadn’t crossed her mind that she would already know about the other one.  
But of course she would known, realized. The High Priestess didn’t underestimate the abilities of her god in providing the right information to its subjects, at the right circumstances, even when she didn’t knew when those were referred to.  
The younger, at the sound of her name, stepped forward.  
“Rhaegal flies onto the oceans, untouched from the pains of another time.” The child told, staring at the violet eyes. Eyes that were watering as Daenerys kneeled to the ground in front of the girl, and raised her hand to cup her cheek.  
Drogon lived on the skies, and Rhaegal on the sea. And Selyrian, Selyrian had the shape of her eyes and the bridge of her nose, even in her infantilized face.  
Mirri Maz Duur had promised that no children would find their way to her womb, yes.  
But the gods made her the Mother of Dragons.  
She caressed the skin of the child she had dreamt about.  
Yes, she was the Mother of Dragons.  
That was unchangeable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I struggled a lot writing this chapter. I hope I didn't made anyone too OC, and by anyone I mean, you know, our stabby lad.  
> Jokes aside, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I still don't know how I feel about my writing overall, but I guess that if I want to find out, I have to keep writing, so...  
> Good reading!

_ Half awake, half drifting back into his sleep, the young man was deep into his covers, the cold barely noticeable to him. His dreams had been foggy and he could not remember them all that well, only that it had been one of the rare cases where his slumber didn’t ached, where his awakening didn’t rushed him with all the thoughts he usually could not get rid off.  
_

_ Those engulfing memories weren’t there. He should be worried, only that he weren’t. Though a little curious. Which memories could his brain be referring to?  _

_ Before he could grasp then, the most delightful laughter made him turn around. The hypnotizing siren that was the most beautiful woman on all land. He knew that when he opened his eyes, he would see her. He could not feel her by his side, which meant that she had been up longer than he had. _

_ And when he did, he knew that mesmerizing was an understatement. Daenerys was the woman the word perfection had been made after. Her long silver hair was unbraided, falling on both the sides of her face, framing her face. Her soft lips had been half-open, and her elongated violet gaze at ease, her eyes striking him as the only real shade in all the pale scenary. His eyes devoured the rest of her, the soft line of her neck and her collarbone, the way her light nightgown dangled from her shoulders, as unbothered by the cold as he was behind all those covers. No, the dragon didn’t need that. Her body did not need to hide in order to feel warmth. And he didn’t need another glance at the translucent fabric to feel his body filled with desire for her.  _

_ So he got on his feet, and the cold didn’t bothered him as well. It was as if her presence was enough to burn him. And she didn’t even spoke a word, she had just been there. Did she realised the influence she had on him? How devoted he was to her? _

_ He could spend a lifetime proving that to her. He could start by kissing every inch of her body. _

_ Then, it shifted. As he got close, her eyes got startled. He wondered if there was anything behind him, just before remembering she had all the reasons to be afraid of him. Of her murderer.  _

_ He wanted to apologize. To get closer and hold her tight and show her he was incapable of harming her in any way. To tell her how she was the one his heart beated for, and how that would never change. But he would never be capable of doing such things ever again.  _

_ A rose of blood blossomed on her chest. His eyes filled with tears. He shook his head to get rid of them, taking his eyes of her less than one second. _

_ She disappeared, traceless.  _

_ And he was left staring at the cold, feeling the snow burn his feet. _

❃

Beyond the Wall, winter was untouched by any shift of the seasons. Time seemed eternally froze in its characteristic darkness, and it had been few the times in his exile since Aegon had seen the sunlight.

Aegon. Jon.

Warrior. Murderer.

He couldn’t tell which was which.

With the wildlings, they had accommodated themselfs in the deepest of the forest, found spots where the ice hadn’t solidified the ground, and it was possible to try some kind of production. Together, they had started to gather the wildlife, the little mammals that there lived, like the closest thing of livestock they could manage. Nothing of that could be considered exciting, by no means, but it was stability what they had always looked for in those inhospitable lands. And, once that the North was inaccessible, spots like those that guaranteed their survival.

That kind of security had brought relief to the faces of the women that carried a child, and rest to the survivors of the Battle Of Winterfell. And a lot of that was due to the efforts and knowledge of Jon. Tormund and the others knew that. He was respected there. Appreciated.

However, the young man didn’t felt like there were any kind of redemption acts possible for the sins that he’d committed. He’d started to hesitate beyond the weight of any weapon, even for daily tasks, as chopping wood or other similar things as such. No, the mere presence of a weapon reminded him of the blood that shouldn’t have been spilled. 

He thought of her. He thought of her all the time. He had flee to the coldest confines of the earth, and yet, his mind couldn’t flee from the Unburnt. He thought of her in every way, when she opened the door for him on that ship, with the same passion in her eyes that she carried in the anticipation of the kiss that killed her. He thought about her strategy, and how stupid he had been for not listening to her, how he should’ve let her rule the seven kingdoms, and then all her subjects would have had to help on the fight against the long night, which would have avoided so many kills. How the idea of taking one of them to Cersei, to think that that woman could be convinced to care for someone other than herself, and how that costed Viseryons life. He blamed himself for not letting Rhaegal rest, for having disregarded both the dragon and the wolf, and how that hadn’t take him nowhere. He blamed himself for the queendom that never happened and all the decisions that lead to the decay of Kings Landing. He knew that, if he had done any of those things differently, this wouldn’t have been their ending. Daenerys would not have turned into the child murderer that she was.

Not that he was any better than it. She at least hadn’t hanged a child and watch as he squirmed, struggling to breathe. He had stabbed his love, and he would have to carry that burden for the rest of his days.

No. He could think of her actions as inconceivable, but never feel any anger or fury. His loved one was grieving, then. She was in no conditions of fighting, and all her stupid council had been plotting behind her back because Jon Snow couldn’t shut up for an instant about the fact that he was Aegon Targaryen. And yet, had never accepted being Aegon Targaryen. He let Daenerys believe she had lost everyone that cared for her, him included. All of that for a name that didn’t even matter.

Every negative feelings he sown, were for himself. For his mistakes. For not being able to keep a secret. For having his life saved so many times by the woman he opted in killing after a short pep talk with a prisoner. 

On that day, he had left the chambers that kept Tyrion uncertain of what he’d do. He hadn’t schemed any evil plan, hadn’t discarded the option of listening to her, of giving her a chance of doing the right thing. Damn, he had even been thinking about how he didn’t cared about the whole aunt thing. He would not be judging of her, not when all she heard since she was a child was of fire and blood. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when she acted according.  

And yet, was as if his senses had left him. Everything happened too quickly, and the smouldering pain that took over his heart made him feel as if the blade had pierced through his own heart. Watching as the life left her features, her expression of hope and love twisting in one of shock and betrayal, unable to say anything. 

He never cried as much as the moment where they had take him. Not when he found out about Ned Starks death, or for any of his fallen brothers. Not even for Yggritte.

Whichever had been the impulse that moved him that day, it was the aspect of himself Jon despised the most. He would like nothing more than going back in time and make everything right.

But it was impossible. He had no way out of the consequences of his acts, and no wishful thinking could change that.

So he lived, knowing that he could never forget. With the guilty he could never get ridden off. He slept and got up with that pain, his first and last thought every day. He’d try to distract himself, thought everything reminded him of her. He all too well knew how she looked around the snow, and there were times where he had to blink twice to make sure she wasn’t waiting for him when he turned his head. Slowly, he would get mad.

Sometimes, his dreams gave him release. He would see through the eyes of Ghost, and on even more rare occasions, he’d have the blessing of dreaming with a life of peace, sunlight and dragons high on the sky. Of what it could have been. 

He had been having one of those - a dream filled with the most charming laughter - when he heard Ghost’s deep howl, jerking him off the bed, already finding his cloak and boots. He hesitated, but got his sword as well, leaving the small tent right after and following the wolf on that winter darkness.

It didn’t took long for him to see the giant albino wolf, and admire for a second how much he had grown now, bigger than his mother had been. The wolf had been waiting for him at the outskirts of the woods, and, just as he saw Jon, he trailed off, slow enough that he could be followed by Aegon if he just ran, and that was what was happening then, with no hesitation. There had been a kind of emergency in those red eyes that he had been able to feel on their slowly rebuilding bond, so there were nothing else that he could have done. Their footsteps were loud enough to Jon to be worried, but soon enough they were too far to be heard from anyone at the camp.

And then, it stopped. The sound of Ghost’s paws against the snow shushed, followed, minutes later, by Jon himself, short of breath. He looked both ways, searching for what he had been brought there for. Until he saw.

It was the kind of thing that, once it had been seen he couldn’t turn away, but that was camouflaged against a tree, making finding them difficult to spot at first.

A Child of the Forest, heavily breathing, pressing her hand against a wound in her stomach.

She raised her gaze to stare at the man that just arrived, and sighed with relief.

“You.” A pause was made, lasting for a moment that was just enough to Jon wonder that all that trouble to get there wasn’t enough because that legendary creature would simply die. But that Child, that legend, that creature which existence had been completely doubted, and that beyond all that was there, wounded and persistent, kept on. “There is something you need to know.”

“Me?”

“Yes…” She tried to move, using her free hand as a support to the weight of her body, grunting with pain at the attempt. “You may not believe me, but, by saving my life, you will change yours completely, Aegon.”

He shivered at the mention of that name. His name, and, at the same time, so foreign. To say that his feelings about that single word were all over the place was a understatement. He gave the woman/child an intense glare, shaking his uneasiness and then rushed, getting closer and, without any ceremonies, hold her fragile body. He thought of getting her on Ghost, because the wolf was far faster than him, but he didn’t knew how to lock her up in such a way she wouldn’t fall and things would get worse, so he didn’t spend too much time on that.

They needed to get to the camp, where there would be herbs and other things he could use to help her.

It was their only chance.

Something moved him, in that moment. A necessity to help, yes, but also, something beyond that. An impulsive strength that lead him to trail his way back on a steady, quick pace, without bothering to check the minutes that went by, knowing that he was being far more efficient than rather occasionally running and stopping to catch his breath. When he reach the borders of the camp, he looked at the Child on his arms, that child that was probably older than all the people there together and far more than that. 

Jon walked the familiar path to his tent, and placed her on his bed without thinking too much about it. 

“One minute.” He didn’t knew if it was the right thing to do, but he needed to find the right equipment, and he certainly wouldn’t find any in his humbling accommodations. 

He got up to a closer tent. Tormund.

Without hesitation, he gave him a kick so he would wake. Any other option took to much time.

“There’s no time for me to explain. Get up. I need every medicine you can find. All of it.”

The redhead cursed, his voice muffled by sleep, though the urgency in Jon’s tone brought him to reality.

“What the fuck happened?”

Jon didn’t answered, which worried him even more.

Instead, he got back to his tent, seeing the fragile breath of the child laying on his bed. When he got closer, she slowly shook her head, in a sign of agreement. His eyes fell upon the wound that standed in front of him, getting on his knees at the same time that Tormund got into the tent, holding bandages and frasks. 

“Sveval is making a tea… what the fuck is that?”

“Shut up, Tormund.”   
Jon was too serious for jokes, not that that affected the other on the slightest. Though he could notice the darkness on his friends eye amplified, as coal in the hearth. He was determined. 

He exposed the injury. It was an ugly one, the kind that could be fatal if not treated soon enough. The former watcher hoped that he had find her quickly enough.

He covered the wound in ointments, and sealed it tightly with the bandages. There were sweat on the Child’s face, even with all the cold. When it was all done, she opened her eyes, staring at the man that helped her. 

Sveval, a robust woman, pregnant with her third child, got in without asking questions. She held a wood mug, and somehow had managed to preserve the warmth of the drink, as he would realise a few moments later. She stared at the creature at the bed, pressing her thin lips together.

“Make it drink.” When she spoke, she looked only at Jon. She left the mug on his hands and went back to her tent.

The two men on the room helped the Child drink, positioning her in a way that wouldn’t cause her to choke. When it was over, they let her settle in between the covers, and rest.

They got out, and Tormund couldn’t help but express himself.

“Why did we do this? What if this fucker kill us?”

“We will have to wait and see, then.” 

The northern wasn’t in the mood for rambling, realized the red bearded man.  His voice was drowned in seriousness, and along that, a shadow seemed to darken his eyes, hiding his thoughts from the other man in a way that could be intimidating if they didn’t knew each other so well. And, from knowing him, Tormund knew that his thoughts weren’t there. Jon had not got into detail from everything since Kings Landing, but the man had told enough. He knew that all his efforts of trying to take something out from him right now would be all wasteful. 

“Tomorrow you’ll explain me this shit. I’m going to sleep.”

Jon barely acknowledged his farewells. His mind drifted to the Child on his bed, his determination to save her. Why?

Cause she knew about him. 

Because she called him not by Jon, the name of his first life, but by the name that shook his core since he first heard about it. The name he attempted to reject by throwing it into the world, as if saying it could make that feeling fade away. He had felt so guilty since he had heard about that name, he just couldn’t help it. Being Aegon seemed like betraying the memory of Ned Stark, the man that stripped himself of all honor to save him. Being Aegon meant he was a Targaryen and explained the way his blood boiled around the last one of his kin, how he orbited around her when they were in the same room. Being Aegon meant things that he weren’t ready for, and yet, that was how the Child of The Forest had addressed him as. 

And, as much as he didn’t wanted to admit that to himself, being called that way mean't something, just as well as the fact that he wasn’t eager to reject such name.

He never had been.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you to everyone that dropped a comment or left kudos. This kind of support really push the fic forward!  
> And for people asking about updates and stuff, I will be trying to upload on the weekends. Anyways, hope you like this chapter!

 

Surprisingly, Jon didn’t found himself that bothered by his lack of sleep, or the fact that his only resting spot for the last hours had been a really rough chair he had made not that long ago. It wasn’t as if he would be getting any sleep if he had been on his bed, though. Chances were he would wake, frantically, feeling blood on hands wet only by sweat. Being eaten alive by his actions.

He took turns staring at the entrance of his tend, and at his bed. The moonlight created silhouettes for everything within his sight, the little attempts at furniture that he had been trying to compose - which were a medium sized box to put his clothes, a desk and the chair he was on - in an attempt to take his mind elsewhere, but all he got was splinters in his fingers and a corner of organized mess. Looking at the entrance of the tend brought him sorrow, and at his bed, questions.

It had been hard. Almost unbearable so, to simply live, day by day. And he had not tell anyone about this. How could he? How could he tell his mind lived in a different era, how each day, the tricks his mind played on him seemed to be getting smarter and smarter? It had been more than once that Aegon had run off his path because he could swear he saw a glimpse of a silver lock, or a footstep in the snow that was just too familiar. He ran after what was impossible to have, knowing what he did, eating himself alive for the guilt of it, and still… His eyes wandered to his bed. The only reason he had saved that stranger's life was because she called him Aegon. Because she, whoever she was, called him the closest thing he had from _her_. The only thing he would have, from now on. But now that that rush was fading, his mind started to wander on questions. How did she knew? Why him, specifically? Why all of that, really? He remembered his childhood, hearing the whispers of the tales about the Children of the Forest. And he clearly remembered about they being extinct. So, how could any of this be happening?

In moments like this that he was truly faced with the truth that he did not, in fact, knew anything.

She moved, restless, on his bed, bringing his attention back to his surroundings once more. She woke in the way he was used to, as if of a nightmare, troubled, just before looking through the room and realising there were no signs of danger.

Then, she stared deep at Jon’s eyes. In such darkness, it was impossible to tell what shade her eyes were precisely, but it didn’t matter right now.

“Do you need anything?” He broke the silence, but not the stare.

“You can spare me of all these human formalities.” She tranquilized him. “If it wasn’t by you stabilizing my situation, I would be dead by now. I own you with my life, Aegon.” There were no thanks in her words, but they were in her gaze, her voice soaked in it.

“Actually, it’s Jon.” He wasn’t that sure of that, anymore.

And that woman-child seemed to see right through his act, shaking her head to the sides.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I have to. It’s the only choice I have.” Silence reigned for a brief moment, until he spoke again.

“What happened to you? Who are you?”

She moved around on the blankets around her, getting as close as possible to sitting up.

“You can call me Spring.” She placed both hands over her thighs and Jon could not avoid the awkwardness for the four digits on each of them. “I imagined you know about most of the tales, and yes, the numbers of others of my kind are minimum, though we still exist, the marjority of us nomadic. In my case, I was… voluntarily banished from our community.”

“So you have been exiled.” As well, he almost said, and almost laughed at the thought.

She shrugged, her expression as if she was furrowing her brows, if she had any.

“You can call it that. I think that, after disagreeing of all the great decisions of our race, my brothers and sisters didn’t wanted me around them anymore, and if they ever saw me again, they would kill me. So I had been hiding, so far in the North you may never see in your lifetime, and there things had been quiet. Until recently.”

“What changed, then?”

“You, Aegon.”

Aegon… The prospect of being called like that brought him mixed reactions. The fact that that woman, Spring, was using it as a name instead of an excuse for politics, as well, when before all he could associate with that was treachery being created right over his back when all he wanted was peace. He might not be Jon, but Aegon was still too fresh of a wound, one he might never get over with.

“Not just you.” She was quick to add, “ However, much of what entangled around you were signs of a prophecy greater than it is known.”

“Eight thousand years ago, when our species gathered to fight alongside each other against the White Walkers, we won the first battle. Just like you did." She started to summarize. "And then we thought everything was alright because of that, so we lowered our guard, and then another wave of them came. Then another, and another after that. That's how so many Children of the Forest, as you all like to call us, perished. And, this time, it will be no different. It won’t be.”

“When you were there… you saw them?”

Her head, ever so slightly, shook up and down in agreement.

“It was back then that the concepts of the prophecies that to this day reflect in this world came to us. And even if they endured all this time, their survival relied in fragments of what they really are. Crucial information ended up being withheld, in order to favor one or another, and it is that that is going to change everything. I crossed the North and was seen and stabbed by my own brothers because I needed to be certain that you would know this.”

He moved, uncomfortably in his chair. His hands went up to his hair as he pushed it away from his face, untangling the locks.

“And how does that change everything? I can’t go back and warn anyone. There is nothing I can do. If everything you said is true, then,... we’re ruined.”

“The prophecy,” she spoke, explicitly ignoring the despair in his speech.  “was reduced to Azor Ahai kills Missa Missa and the Long Night ends. However, when it was created, or better of, found, it spoke of resurrection and war. It told about one of us, a Children of the Forest, who would be rebirth by the will of the Gods and drive the light to Westeros. It spoke about swords that would bring light through death, but never about eternity. It spoke about an impostor, manipulating the facts on his surroundings in order to end on a throne of ashes. And everything is coming together. Our only hope lies in those who know, like me, to help things follow the way they should be. And that’s how it changes everything.”

“What does everything means? The prophecy talks about you?”

“It is very difficult to affirm about such details, mainly those that could end up being so egocentric in the first place. I can speak about what I know about what I observe, Aegon.”

“Then how can I know that what you say is true, and not just desperate interpretations? How can I know that anything you said to me is real?”

The moonlight reflect inside the tent, shaping their silhouettes against the darkness. Spring moved in such a way that her face was caught by the light, revealing laurel green irises. He could only admire them for a single moment, as she close her eyes.

When they opened once more, she revealed pale milk orbits.

 

❃

 

Ghost walked calmly to the tent, sitting on a random spot between the chair and the bed. Jon stood up, nervously pacing around the small space.

“That’s enough. You don’t need to do that to him.”

Sprink blinked, and what had been done now was reversed.

“I needed. I need for you to be certain of my truths, Aegon, for the things I must explain are not easy to hear, and it is crucial for you to have your trust on my words. Do you believe in me?”

“Ok, I believe.” He watched his giant wolf, that occupied almost all the space of the room, and reached to pet his pale fur.

“I’m a greenseer, and a warg. I can see beyond me, and I can enter the minds of animals.”

“Just like Bran.” Jon admired. Spring turned her eyes away from him when he said that, and he noticed. “What is it?”

“That whom you met no longer is Brandon Stark but in the flesh. There is a section of the prophecy that is meant to him, although it is unclear if he can be saved.” The man’s expression squirmed, however, before the questions that he was about to make could be released, the Child of the Forest proceeded. “The Three Eyed Raven dedicated himself to the art of tracking those like Bran, manipulate and occupy their bodies as to ensure his immortality. Beyond that… It was known, before, about his thirst for power. When Brandon gave him the opportunity of the Iron Throne, he didn’t missed it, manipulating everyone around him with such mastery to guarantee that the future would unfold as he desires.  Without sparing nothing nor everyone to be certain that he would be in control.”

“Without sparing nothing nor everyone?” Jon repeated, afraid of the suggestions his own mind was creating.

“Yes. Eliminating every obstacle towards his goal.” It was possible to feel the delicacy which Spring was trying to deal with that situation, not knowing how to address it directly, without knowing how to make that experience the less excruciating for him as she could. One second later and she realised that he understood, even if only superficially.

“He invaded Daenerys Targaryen mind on the Battle of Kings Landing.  He invaded yours, on the Throne Room.”

Suddendly, there wasn’t enough air for him to breathe. Jon curved against his thighs with one hand clutching his chest, as if trying to manage a pain that was so close to death. The realization of what had happened struck him. Daenerys had never gotten mad. She had not lied in the Throne Room, about them reigning together. He had not been insane to believe in her words, to stab the woman he loved.

“And he would have done those things anyway, because he has the means to do so. It won’t do good to think about how things could be if they were different, when we have the future to worry about. And we have to worry about it, for now he’s there, and he doesn’t matter about the rest. He will let the dead devour everything till the last second possible, just like he did in Winterfell. Or haven’t you wondered why he hadn’t tried to do anything to help?”

“Then… What can we do? What can I do?”

“See, I have one advantage against him. The advantage that made me move forward to you before the Army of the Dead did. For the Three Eyed Raven only watch with the eyes that are set in the trees, but us, the Children of the Forest, have the characteristic to watch by the eyes of one another.” She stopped talking. At first, Aegon thought it was just another pause, but minutes passed, and she stayed silent.

“What did you saw?”

“Now it’s the time where you need to believe in me.”

“I thought I had already proven to you that I do.” He grumbled. Besides the circumstances, his insolence made her create a small smile on her face, one that didn’t last long.

“I knew the prophecy had been occurring when I saw the resurrection of the one that would be the guide. And I watched her, walking far away from Westeros, where the powers of the Raven can’t reach. And, in Essos, I saw her… besides the High Priestess Kinvara, and then, with Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

❃

 

Pain had been the air he breathed. Suffering had been his vests, ache, his water. Every second of the last months, Jon had been enduring some form of agony from his heart, as well deserved manifestations of the evil he had done. His body had adapted itself to handle forever tense muscles and heavy shoulders. It was just how he was now. A shadow of his former being, as if existing in a third lifeless life, caring a heart immersed in eternal damnation, waiting for release.

For once he had died. And he still remembered the pain of the life leaving his body that first time. In comparison, now, it seemed like he was stuck on a loop of constant horror, and death sounded like a peaceful release. In death, he would not carry sorrow. He would be relieved of all his sins. He often had asked himself what was his purpose in that world, why had R’hollor intervened, when nothing that had happened seemed right to him. When nothing that he did seemed right to him.

And now, a Child of the Forest caring incredible powers appeared, telling him that Daenerys Targaryen was alive. The Mother of Dragons. The most beautiful, caring, woman in the world. His love. His Dany.

She was alive on the other side of the ocean.

And all he wanted to do was to run to her. And all he wanted to do was to run the other way, and never bother her ever again.

And all he didn’t wanted was to look in the eye of the woman he loved, after he killed her. He didn’t think he could bare such thing.

However, knowing that she was alive made some of the tension unlift from his body. Not all of it, for he still had much guilt to agonize for, even if with all the manipulation aspect of things. He still feared, knowing how she would react to him.

But she was alive.

He’d live the rest of his days in pain with pleasure now that he knew that. She may never forgive him - he didn’t think himself could do so - but how many times had he dreamed of that? How many days hadn’t him fell into a delirium of impossible miracles, of things he’d would do if he only had the chance?

There was a chance there, he only didn’t knew its purpose. There was an opportunity, a prophecy.

There was a miracle. The kind of wonder only Daenerys Targaryen could do.

His heart contracted inside his chest. She could hate him all she wanted, all he deserved, but all he could feel now, knowing that, was thankfulness. For knowing that he could see her, alive, someday.

That he didn’t could run away, not with a prophecy between them.

Maybe, this time, she would be the one to kill him. And if that was the case, he would welcome her with arms wide open.

Though he didn’t think she would do so. No, she was a better person than him, in every way. No, that was much more of a selfish wish, that, if she didn’t wanted him, that she could be the last thing he saw before shutting his eyes forevermore.

His thoughts were scrambled all around the place, confused with  the many paths  he was trying to simultaneously make. He wanted to cry from joy, and his wet cheeks seemed to warn him he already did, he wanted to win her back, prove to her that he was worthy, that he’d do what was right, and at the same time, he had no idea where to go, what to do.

Spring said something, but he couldn’t hear it. It took her a repetition for Jon to grasp on the meaning of her speech:

“Now he knows.” Was what she said. Aegon understood what that was about right away. It was obvious that the Three Eyed Raven would be watching that conversation unfold. “And so do you, and that was crucial.”  
“How is she? Where is she?”  When his mind cleared up, he started questioning her, doubts spilling out one after another. All Spring did was shake her head to the sides, signing a no.

“Trust me. By telling you I’m giving weapons to the enemy. You will know what you must when you must.”

The former watcher of the Wall wanted to disagree, to tell her that he had the right to know, but the words froze on his throat before he could say so. Last time he had too much information, Daenerys died. He could not let that happen again. He deserved ignorance.

And the Raven deserved it just as well. If that was the price to pay for her well being, he’d gladly pay.

Curiosity still struck him, anyways. What would she be doing right now? Had she thought of him? Remembered him? Hated him? Loved him? Would she sail her way to Westeros?

Those were difficult questions to answer, and he could not have any glimpse of those without putting her in danger.

So, he allowed for the ice blocks in his throat to melt, taking away all his wonders, and truly chose to trust the ancient child that faced him.

“You’re welcomed to stay with us. It’s definitely not a good idea to have you wondering around, it seems.” Jon changed the subject. She nodded.

“That sounds like a good idea. I was hoping that you would offer this after I told you everything. It’s far too dangerous for you to be left alone now that you know. And I supposed you’d like to be kept as updated… As possible, of course.”

He agreed. Spring still seemed to have many secrets she couldn’t spill, but that didn’t meant he would not want her to keep around so he could at least have the crumbles of things.

“We’ll make a tent for you by the morning, then. For now, you can stay here.” He proceeded.

“And what about the wildlings?”

“I’m sure they won’t be an issue.” The idea of anyone messing with the closest thing he had of Daenerys Targaryen brought coldness to his voice, and, as a spectrum of an old habit, he placed his hand on his sword. He would not hesitate in act on her best interests, not this time. No matter the costs.

He had been walking the line drawn from his blood for all his life, never understanding why his blood would boil when he should be snow, and when he found out about the fire within, it scared him at first. From a King always questioned to a prince from birth, he found his wits undermined, easily manipulated. Today, he could see all the strings he’d let himself be pulled to, all in the hopes of finding a feeling of belonging, always being controlled by those who claimed wisdom, only to become a betrayer, a title that fell upon him long before the dagger on his hand. He looked at Spring and all she told came to him, and now, he had a second chance to not question himself, to do as he wanted. Maintaining peace between wildlings and a Child of The Forest was just the first step towards that.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if anyone will read this at all, but if you do, some heads up:  
> this fic has two main purposes: make my Daenerys stan ass indulge in something more pleasant than we had and to improve my english. If you happen to have enjoyed this first chapter, I hope that, if you got to this point, you can give this random little thing a chance.  
> Also, I have no ideia of when updates will happen.


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